


Sacrifice

by jlbassmaster (Airwing)



Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: Depression, M/M, Suicide Attempt, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:18:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airwing/pseuds/jlbassmaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hope takes his mother's death hard, and after the events in Palumpolum, he begins to stop blaming Snow, and instead takes the blame himself, to a dangerous level.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: Be aware that this is a very dark story. It is a different take on just how Hope would have been coping with his mother’s death and facing what was going on when he confronted Snow in Palumpolum. This story addresses some very emotionally sensitive topics, so be aware that it may be considered disturbing to people with a history of depression or mental upset. I hope you enjoy this serious and darker take on Hope’s emotions dealing with loss and please keep in mind that I do not advocate his method of coping! Also thank you to G-AnakinRPG for his wonderful beta service. ☺

_Can you tell me, softly, how you’ll always, haunt me? Can you help me, hold me? Come to me now, slowly. You caress me, smoothly. Calm my fears and soothe me. Move your hands across me. Take my worries from me. Can you feel me, solely, deeper still and wholly? With your understanding and your arms around me, can you help me, hold me? Whisper to me, softly. Move your hands across me, take my worries from me. –t.A.T.u. ‘Sacrifice’_

**_Palumpolum: Ten Days Before the Fall_ **

****

                  Hope Estheim fingered the sharp blade he held in his left hand. It was a special knife, a birthday gift from Serah Farron to her sister, Lightning. The former Guardian Corps soldier lent it to him back in the Gapra Whitewoods, concerned that he may need additional protection from the fierce beasts and skilled soldiers they were facing in their escape from PSICOM.  The knife was about the length of his arm when extended, the blade folding down into the handle rather than making use of a sheath. Lightning’s name was engraved on it as well, signifying her ownership: she wanted the knife back.

                  “Better be careful, kiddo, don’t want to cut yourself,” Fang warned. Hope looked up at her with a slightly annoyed look. “Eh, sorry, kid. I forget you’ve been holding your own,” she apologized. He looked back down at the knife, clicking it shut and putting it back in his side pocket. He got up off of the chair he was sitting on and ambled back to his bedroom. He looked at his bed, his enemy sleeping soundly on the soft blanket. Snow still had on his pants but his boots, coat, and shirt were tossed aside at the foot of the bed. His chest was wrapped in bandages, padding under the white gauze. Asleep, the man looked peaceful and quiet, completely different from his usual energetic and reckless self. Hope couldn’t help but notice his chest moving up and down slowly as Snow breathed in and out, his smooth muscles flexing a bit in his deep sleep.

                  “Are you okay?” he heard Lightning’s voice ask him. It was then that he noticed her sitting in a chair in front of the bed. She had a friendly smile on her face, a look of concern. The two of them had grown close on their flight from the Vile Peaks, she having taught him through experience how to be tougher, how to defend himself and how to put down his adversaries. In effect she was like an older sister, or maybe a sort of mother figure. His mother. Where was she?

                  Nora Estheim was actually at the bottom of the crystallized Lake Bresha, unbeknownst to anyone else. When the second explosion rattled the bridge at the Hanging Edge, it was just enough for Snow to lose his grip on her arm, the pain of the shrapnel from the first explosion already overtaking her.  Hot blood was flowing down her back from the wound that was taking her life, soaking the back of her sweater and down into her pants. She couldn’t see what hit her, but could tell by the fast draining of her blood that it had to be very large, and very deep. Her breaths were ragged gasps, her mind struggling to stay alive just a little bit longer. She didn’t know the name of the man who held on to her, she just knew that he was a strong man, someone who could lead. Her last words came out in a short breath to the man who she trusted to carry out her final request – “Keep him safe.” The man began to protest her death, but she had bled out far too much and her consciousness was lost. He couldn’t tell if she had just went out for a moment or if she lost her life completely, but he would never know for sure before the second explosion caused him to lose his grip, her body dropping from the bridge. She didn’t feel herself slam into several plates of iron, the first plate lodging the steel plate the rest of the way through her body, the second fracturing her neck. Her broken body then slid off of a third plate and into the deep lake below. She sank to the bottom well before the Pulse Vestige fell into the lake and crystallized it; her final resting place. Hope would never know what happened to his mother after she fell from the bridge, and it was for the best. He didn’t need the memory of his mother battered and broken at the bottom of the lake as his last image of her.

                  Hope began to tear up as he thought about his mother. Nothing would ever be the same again without her. Everywhere in his home was pictures of her and her husband, of her and Hope, and of the three of them. On his desk where he did his homework was a small picture frame of he and Nora, his arms wrapped around her neck with Hope on her back, both of them smiling. Hope looked away from the picture and closed his eyes.

                  “You’re not okay, are you? Why am I even asking, of course you aren’t. I’m sorry, Hope,” Lightning said, scolding herself and apologizing. “I wish there was something I could do. I wish-“ she stopped herself, knowing that if she continued she would cry, and she would never let anyone see her cry. She had to be strong. All her life she had to be strong for Serah, but it was time for her to also be strong for Hope, the little brother and son that she would never have. She steeled herself against the thoughts in her head and waited for Hope to respond.

                  “You have done plenty already, Light. Thank you,” he said, his voice barely audible to her ears. She stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder, then pulled him close for a hug. It wasn’t fair. He should be with his mother and father, the three of them happy at home with the rest of their family – instead they were split; his mother dead, his father a distant shell, and Hope in despair. She tried so hard to instill in him the hope he was named for, but he had to want it, he had to try and find it – she couldn’t make it happen for him.

                  “Can I be alone for a while?” he asked softly.

                  “What about Snow?” she replied. “Oh, he’s fine, he’s asleep. I just need time to think by myself for a while,” he explained. Lightning gave him a half smile and nodded, turning to leave and slide the door shut behind her.

                  As soon as the door was shut, Hope pulled the knife out of his side pocket, clicked it open, and for the hundredth time fingered the blade.  It was razor sharp, having never been used. It almost was tarnished with blood when he attempted to kill Snow with it, but once they slammed into the bottom of the alley, things changed inside him. Snow wasn’t entirely at fault. If anything, he had tried to save his mother. Snow didn’t make the fal’Cie that made an appearance in Bodhum, Snow didn’t create the purge. Snow tried to help the purgees, even if his methods were faulty, his intentions were noble. If Snow hadn’t intervened, he and his mother would be on Pulse, probably torn to shreds by horrible beasts within hours or slaughtered by Cocoon’s own forces. No, it wasn’t all his fault. It wasn’t even his fault that his mother volunteered to fight. She just wanted to protect her son. Her son, Hope, himself. Wait, she decided to fight in order to keep him safe from harm. She fought for him. It was his fault she got involved. It was his fault she was in the line of fire, his fault that she was close enough to pick up the rocket launcher. It was his fault that she was standing there, the large metal shard slicing into her body as if she were a rag doll. None of it was Snow’s fault at all. He tried desperately to hold on to her, but he lost his grip and she fell, but she had to be dead already anyway. Even from across the bridge he could see the blood flowing down her body, saw her head drop and her body go limp. It was his fault that she died, not Snow’s. Why hadn’t he realized it before?

                  “It was all my fault,” he said aloud. He repeated it over and over in front of Snow’s sleeping form. “It was all my fault, and all this time I blamed you, when the only thing you tried to do was help her and then honor her last request. How could I be so stupid? What if I had killed you? I would be no better than the Sanctum, murdering an innocent for revenge that isn’t even justified. What was I thinking?” Hope looked down at the knife in his hands once more. He couldn’t bring his mother back. Nothing he did – no spells, no potions, no form of magic or science could bring her back. Her body wasn’t even accounted for, the knowledge that she could not have survived the fall being his only solace that she was not suffering below the Hanging Edge, alone, in pain and without help. No, she was dead, it was his fault, and nothing he could do could ever bring her back.

                  What about his dad? What about Bartholomew? He seemed to take the news of his wife’s death with the impact of a speeding train. His eyes had gone wide, his body weak. Lightning had to rush to his side to hold him steady when Hope made the announcement to him. The color faded from his skin, his body seeming to lose his soul the moment it registered in his head that his wife, Nora, was never coming home, was dead by the hand of PSICOM. All he had was his son, Hope. His son with whom his relationship was extremely strained. He was always so busy with work that he rarely had time to spend with the family. He couldn’t recite Hope’s favorite food, color, animal – anything. The only reason he knew that his son was a champion boomerang thrower was because there were numerous boomerangs mounted in the boy’s room,  trophies on the mantelpiece behind the couch in the living room. The two of them had never had a real conversation, just small talk that Bartholomew didn’t even pay a lot of attention to – not because he didn’t care but because he had too much on his mind already. It was his high paying job that allowed the Estheim’s to live in the luxury they did. Their nice home, the expensive electronics, Nora’s extensive collection of pricey clothing, Hope’s high priced boomerangs. How else could they afford everything if he didn’t work so much? It all came at a price, however. The cost was his life – he hardly knew his family anymore. His son was fourteen and at a very stressful point in his life, but he never had time to be the father figure he was supposed to be. Hope didn’t really have a father figure, and Bartholomew regretted that with every fiber of his being at that very moment. He couldn’t bring Nora back, but had he been with them in Bodhum, he would have been with them and could have attempted to protect his family. What was going to happen now since Nora was gone? He couldn’t simply stop work to stay home with Hope, but he didn’t want to leave Hope without a parent, either. Ha! Some parent he was, anyway. Hope was better off without him the way their relationship was. What could he do to mend that? How could he fix fourteen years of neglect?

                   “You know, my father never cared much about me. He bought me stuff, but he rarely ever talked to me like he cared. He just wanted to keep mom happy, and part of that meant he had to keep me happy. If I wasn’t satisfied, then neither was she,” Hope explained to Snow’s sleeping body. “He wouldn’t have cared if I never came home. If something happened to me.” Hope continued to trace the blade with his fingertips, cocking his head sideways in deep thought, staring at Snow’s rising chest. “You know, if I wanted to kill you, I could right now. You can’t stop me. I could shove this blade right into your heart and there is nothing you could do about it.” Snow twitched a little as if he had heard the teenager making his threat. “But I could never do that. It wouldn’t solve anything, and you aren’t at fault anyway. It would be cold blooded murder of an innocent man. No, I can’t become that kind of monster,” Hope said, turning away. He closed the blade and stuffed it back in his pocket, then returned to the living room where the others were sitting on the couch.

                   “We need to leave as soon as he’s ready. If they know dad’s sheltering l’Cie, they’ll purge him or something,” Hope announced. Lightning turned in her seat to face him. Hope wouldn’t look at his father, wouldn’t look anywhere but in front of him with blank eyes. Fang was watching him as well as Lightning, noticing the strange look on his face.

                  “Hey kiddo, you okay? You look like you’re going to pass out or something,” Fang observed. She stood up and took hold of his shoulder, then put the back of her free hand against his forehead as if to feel for abnormal warmth. “He doesn’t feel hot, not the way he would if he was getting dizzy,” she said. Hope looked up at her, his lips turned upward as if to say ‘thank you’ in a half-grin. He knew it would soon be time to say good-bye, so better to do it with a smile.

                  “I’m fine. A little tired. We need to be ready to leave real soon, though,” he explained. Lightning nodded, turning to Fang for agreement. Fang nodded as well, but as soon as the boy got back up to return to his room, she mouthed to Lightning, “Something’s wrong.” She nodded her agreement and decided to go check on him. When she got to his bedroom door, it was locked.

                  “Hope?” Lightning called out, rapping gently on the door. “I’m fine,” he replied. She wasn’t satisfied with his answer but she really didn’t know what else to do. Break down the door and freak everyone out? What if she was overeating to the whole situation – reading more into it than she should? He may just be mourning his mother; it was the first time they had gotten a chance to rest since everything began in the first place. “Okay, but come out in a few minutes, Fang’s fixing some sandwiches for us,” she said, deciding not to press him. He mumbled an okay, signaling her leave.

                   On the other side of the door, Hope was again brandishing the knife, running his finger along the blade. This time, however, he pressed his finger down just enough to draw a single tiny slit along his fingertip, a thin ribbon of blood appearing. He didn’t even wince; his mind was too numb to think about pain. It was sharp enough to slice right through; he wouldn’t even feel it probably. It would slide right through him like butter, sliding right between his ribs and into his heart. It would beat a few more times, pushing out the last of his blood, but then it would all be over. His heart would stop, his body would go limp, and his life would end. Yes, that was the answer. Death.

                  Hope double checked to make sure the door was locked. He didn’t want any interruptions during his task. He knew Snow wouldn’t wake, he’d be careful not to make any noise to alert him to what was about to happen. He thought some more; was the heart truly the way he wanted to do it? Yes, it was what he wanted, but he would do a little more damage first, just to expedite the blood flow and bring about the darkness. He was kneeling next to the bed, thinking it the best place to carry out the dirty deed. He set the knife, open, on the bedside, then carefully removed his jacket and shirt. Bare-chested, Hope picked up the knife from the bed and leaned back on his feet, then stared at the object in his hands. It was time. He took the blade in his right hand and extended his left arm. He traced the tip of the blade against his arm, knowing that he should cut along his arm and not across it. He wouldn’t go deep, just enough to make it bleed. He put slight pressure down on the blade, parting his tender flesh. Beads of red began to form at the  long wound that he traced from just below his brand up the length of his forearm. The cut burned him with agony, his eyes watering as it registered in his head, the horror of seeing the first drops of blood emitting from the wound and sliding down his smooth arm. He blinked the tears from his eyes and took a better look at his bleeding arm. Damn! He didn’t drag it straight enough, it went at an angle. Oh well. Time for the other side. He repeated the act on his right arm, not having a lot of strength left in his other arm but he managed. He was weakening already. His eyes were getting heavy, his strength was waning. Blood covered his arms, leaking from the long angry cuts. What the hell was he doing? He knew in his heart why he was committing such a painful act, but he hadn’t considered the physical torture he was doing to his body – the burning sensation of the cuts, the wet stickiness of the blood on his skin. He began to fall sideways, but before he could hit the floor he felt something firm, yet soft and warm appear under his body.

                   “Hope! Hope!” Snow yelled, waking up just in time to see the boy begin to sway, noticing the blood welling up on his arms. He leapt up with speed that sent pain shooting from his abdomen to the rest of his body, but he didn’t have time to feel it as his arms landed under the falling boy. “Hope! What the hell?” he cried. He sat down with his legs spread, pulling the boy to lay on his back in Snow’s lap. Snow was shaking him, trying to keep him awake. “Don’t fall asleep!” he ordered. “Light! Fang! Help! Now!” he hollered even louder. Within seconds, Lightning and Fang both were knocking on the door, trying to urge it open.

                  “Open the door!” Fang shouted, still pulling on the handle. “Get back,” Lightning ordered, then a loud bang was followed by the sound of the door sliding open. “Good call,” Fang praised. The two women rushed into the room upon seeing the bleeding boy in Snow’s lap.

                  “What did you do to him!?” Lightning demanded of the grown man, already knowing that he hadn’t hurt the boy, but the sight threw her off-guard, forced her to say something irrational. Snow had the boy cradled in his arms, tears streaming down his face.

                  “I didn’t do anything, I swear! I woke up in time to catch him fall over and he was already bloody!” Snow defended himself. Lightning didn’t want to waste time arguing. She knelt down next to the injured young man. He was pale, the blood running from his body draining him of color. It wasn’t gushing freely, but slowly oozing from the wounds. They weren’t incredibly deep looking, but they were deep enough to cause enough blood loss.

                  “Hope! Stay with me! Don’t fall asleep!” Lightning ordered. His eyes were getting heavy, but she smacked him lightly to keep him awake. “Don’t close your eyes!” Fang was horrified at the scene, having never in her five hundred years seen someone try to kill themselves, which is what she concluded had happened. She immediately ran out of the room to the bathroom and began grabbing white towels from out of the closet, desperately searching the cabinets for some sort of bandages and ointment.

                  “Where is he? What’s going on!?” Bartholomew burst into Hope’s room, demanding answers. Upon seeing his son lying on the floor, shirtless and bloody, the shock caused him to pass out. He hit the floor with a thud, and Fang dragged him out to the couch as soon as she returned with towels.

                  “There’s no more bandages!” she shouted from the living room as she settled the grown man down on the couch cushions. Jeez, grown man can’t even stand the sight of blood. When she was sure he was going to be on the couch for a while she ran back to join the others.

                “Come on, Hope, don’t leave us like this,” Snow pleaded with him. Lightning was holding a towel, no longer pure white but a deep red, against one of his arms, trying to put pressure on the wound to keep it from bleeding faster. Snow did the same to the other arm. His eyes were beginning to close again, his energy drained and his will to live draining with it. ”Please, Hope, don’t die on us,” Snow continued to plead. He could barely focus as tears continued to flow freely from his eyes. Lightning was crying as well, no longer caring if anyone else saw. This was someone she had become close to in a short period of time, someone who had become a brother and son to her and there was no way she was going to let him die.

                  “I’m sorry,” Hope managed to whisper. His voice was light, his lips barely able to move. “I’m sorry, for everything.”

                  “Stop it! Why are you sorry?” Lightning demanded. Snow was holding on to the boy for dear life, Fang having taken over putting the pressure on his wound.

                  “Fault. My fault,” Hope breathed. His breaths were coming in ragged gasps, his lungs struggling to stay working. His chest was barely rising anymore. He could barely hear anything, everything sounding like his head was in a hollow tube, everything a faint echo in his head. His eyes were barely open but he could see his three comrades shouting. He could see Lightning and Snow’s faces red and shining with tears. He could feel something wet on his face, probably more tears; there was no way blood made its way up to his cheeks. Yeah, they were tears, but they were his own. Tears he didn’t even know he was crying.

                  “What? What’s his fault?” Fang questioned. 

                  “His mother!” Snow cried. “His mother! He thinks it’s his fault his mother died!”

                  “But that’s crazy!” Fang replied.

                  “No, it isn’t When people we love die, we look for someone to blame. He blamed Snow but once he found out what really happened up there, that Snow was trying to save her, he had to blame someone else!” Lightning explained. She wiped tears from her eyes.

                  “Why can’t you blame me? Why, Hope? I was to blame! I got her killed, not you!” Snow bawled. Under different circumstances it actually would have been rather funny, a grown man bawling and hollering like a kid. “Hope, please, why did you do this?”

                  “Don’t cry, Snow,” Hope whispered. His breath was more and more labored. He wouldn’t be with them much longer.  Snow suddenly lost it.

                  “God damnit, Hope! I won’t lose you! I failed your mother but I won’t fail you too! I promised her to keep you safe and I will, if it kills me, too!” he boomed. He was holding on to the teenager with all of his might, as if he was holding in his very soul to keep it from escaping. “You will not die! Not today,” Snow finished. Hope closed his eyes, a smile across his face.

                  “NO! Hope!” Snow cried. If PSICOM had been listening they surely would have heard the alarm of Snow’s voice echoing throughout the room. He leaned over the kid, crying madly. Lightning, too, was sobbing; having lost someone that meant a lot to her, even if she couldn’t explain exactly why he was so special to her.

                  Hope felt his body go cold and completely limp. He felt the very last bit of his life fade from his body, his will to live gone. All he wanted was to be with his mother, away from the fal’Cie, l’Cie, magic, Eidolons, PSICOM, the Sanctum, fighting, all of it, even if his fate was to become a Cie’th. What good did any of it do without her? How could he seek to save what was rotted through? He felt himself suddenly aware of being in darkness, as if he were in his mind. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t see, couldn’t feel anything. But he could hear. The one thing he could hear was his mother’s voice.

                  “Hope. This isn’t the way. It isn’t your fault I died. I’m happy that I was able to save you, even if I had to die to do it. You’re my son, my everything. I brought you into this world. I protected you. You can’t go this way.” Nora’s voice was like music, soft and soothing.

                  “Hope, wake up. You aren’t gone yet. You’re unconscious. You don’t have much time at all. But if you wake up now, there may still be a chance. You have to fight, Hope. The only way you will survive is to fight for your life. Don’t let my death mean nothing. Stay alive, for both of us. If you don’t force yourself to stay alive, you’ll be gone. You have to survive, Hope. You have friends and family who love you very much. Didn’t you see? Snow, Lightning, Fang? All of them crying for you. Don’t you know even Sazh and Vanille would mourn you, cry for you? Your father, Hope. He would mourn the hardest. Your relationship has never been strong but don’t destroy him this way. Stay alive so you can change your relationship, make it strong! I know you can do it, Hope! You have a lot of love to give. To him, and to everyone.”

                  Hope’s eyes began to flutter just a little bit, something stirring within him. He could feel himself regain consciousness, his chest slowly began to rise again, and he began to feel his body again.

                  “Hope?” Snow asked as he felt the life beginning to return to the boy. He pulled back and watched him, Hope’s eyes finally forcing themselves open. They were a very pale green, the life still not fully back into him yet.

                  “Snow?” he whispered.

                  “Yes! Hope! Don’t go, come back with us, please Hope!” Hope smiled at him, struggling to keep his eyes open. Lightning shoved Snow aside and embraced the boy, her eyes filling again with tears, but of happiness.  “I’ll go get him some food and juice. He’s gonna need whatever we can get him to digest to help get his blood going again,” Fang said, leaving for the kitchen. She wanted everyone to quickly forget that she, too, had been crying.

                  Snow kept Hope’s head in his lap, staring down at the beautiful young teenager’s face, watching him intently. Lightning hadn’t yet spoke, unable to find the right words. She had taken the bandages off of Snow’s chest and tore them, using them to wrap Hope’s arms and maintain the pressure. Since he had not cut straight down but instead at an angle, he hadn’t done as much damage as he could have, and with the right pressure and binding, he would heal. Sadly, her cure magic would have little effect since it was not a magically inflicted injury.

                  “We’ll have your father go into town. He won’t be noticed, and we will get him to pick up some Phoenix feathers. We can wrap your arms up with them to accelerate the healing,” Lightning spoke for the first time.  Hope smiled at her. “Thank you, Light,” he managed to breathe. She smiled back at him and kissed him on the forehead, then stood up.

                  “I think you two need some time alone. I’ll help Fang and we’ll be back in a few minutes. Maybe we can rouse your father, too,” Lightning said. She was relieved he was alive, but they were still in a dangerous state – if they didn’t get him those feathers, he may not make it. She would have to sneak out herself. “Fang, I’ll be back. I need some Phoenix Feathers,” Lightning said to her companion. Fag nodded, wished her safety, and went back to her task.

                  In Hope’s room, Snow still had him with his head in his lap. He was gently stroking Hope’s hair and face. “I’m so glad you didn’t go. I don’t know what I would have done,” Snow said.  He smiled down at his young friend.

                  “Snow, I heard my mother,” Hope said softly. Snow gave him a quizzical look. “I heard her. I was in darkness, I couldn’t see or feel but I heard her voice. She told me to fight.”

                  “You know even though she isn’t here anymore, she will always be in your heart. That’s what she wanted you to know, I bet,” Snow said, rubbing Hope’s chest over where his heart was. “She’s right in here, right with you. Always will be.  And I’m right here. She wanted me to keep you safe, and I’ll do just that. I won’t let anything else happen to you, Hope. I’ll protect you even if it kills me.”

                  “Snow? Thank you,” Hope said.  “Am I going to be okay?”

                  “Yes. Light went to get your father to get up so he can get some Phoenix feathers. They’ll heal you pretty quickly. We still need to stay here for a couple days before you get your strength back. We won’t leave you here. I won’t leave you here,” Snow replied. “Hope, I- I care so much about you. I wish I knew how to explain it.”

                  “I know. It’s some sort of companionship that you only get sharing something like this. Snow, you saved me again,” Hope explained. He took a long time to say it all, he was still very weak, but Snow waited patiently for him to finish speaking. “I’ll never forget this.”

                  “You know, Hope, we can both do your mother a favor. We can make her proud, real proud. We’ll take care of each other. You’ll be safe and you’ll be keeping me safe. We’ll keep each other out of trouble. Like best friends.”

                  “Yeah. Like best friends…” Hope replied, becoming more tired.

                  “Don’t sleep yet, you need nourishment. Fang will be right here, then I can- “ Snow began.

                  “No. Don’t leave me, Snow. I need you. Here, now. Stay with me tonight. Protect me,” Hope pleaded quietly.

                  “Okay, I’ll stay with you,” Snow responded. “I promise.” Snow smiled at the boy, who was smiling right back at him. Snow continued to stroke the young man’s face and hair as they waited patiently for Fang to bring food, and Bartholomew to return with the Phoenix feathers that Lightning would heal him with. “I’ll stay with you,” Snow said. “I’ll protect you and keep you safe.”


End file.
